


movie screens

by orphan_account



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Cooking, F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:41:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24740953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Mila and Sara bake cookies at 2AM.
Relationships: Mila Babicheva/Sara Crispino
Kudos: 6





	movie screens

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written in 2017. 
> 
> I recall posting this on my main Ao3, then deleted it for some reason I can't remember. Although, frankly, I wouldn't want to keep this in my main account, because I'm too ashamed of my older fics....
> 
> Anyway, here it is. Something old, something I wrote just when I began writing fics for the first time in years. 
> 
> I know it's sloppy, but please, don't leave mean comments! :)

If you wonder why Tumblr dating prompts are always so sweet, it’s because they’re unrealistic. They’re mostly things that you find in cliché, predictable modern young adult books. Ones that you won’t even find cute, but rather—ordinary. Sometimes you might also think, _who the hell would do this simply to give out an aesthetically pleasing romantic vibe?_

Mila and Sara would. Cross my arms and hope to die, they _would_.

For them, a relationship shouldn’t be a kid’s dollhouse play or a red herring of one’s problem. It should be a dedicated part of your life; therefore you must make the most of it.

Or at least that’s how they think it is. They show their love towards each other to the point of slight exaggeration. Candlelight dinner, check. Bathing in rose-infused water, fulfilled. Waltzing, riding the bus until the last stop just to stay together longer, kissing under the fireworks, watching sunset, stargazing, exchanging bouquets, making flower crowns, recreating Taylor Swift’s _Love Story_ music video, yeah, been there, done that.

When they found themselves in their aprons at 3 a.m. without a blink of sleep in the kitchen, there was no surprise.

Mila, face and hair in havoc and miserably white with flour; while Sara, hair tied up into a tight ponytail and fortunately clean, but hands and apron stank of wet yolk.

The kitchen itself was one hell of a mess. Neither of them ever had any baking experiences in life, but they attempted to make brownies anyway—and at such an unreasonable hour.

Let’s dart back to how it all began, shall we not?

_02.50_

“Mila, aren’t you going to sleep?” Sara asked in a singsong voice. Both of them were wearing their sleepwear, watching a channel for babies in their living room. The atmosphere was a little eerie, considering it was slightly dark and very quiet, aside from the haunting melody that came from the TV.

“Hmm…well…this slowed version of Canon in D does make me want to snooze, but I’m not tired yet,” Mila replied, eyes fixed to the screen, which was a static cartoon under the sea scenery with occasional fish and crabs that pass by. “But it’s a little cold.

“It should be, when you’re only wearing lingerie like this,” she let out a breath of chuckle and flung the small blanket that she had curled in her fingers over Mila’s shoulders. The movement produced slight wind, and Mila’s first reflex was to shiver. But when her body was embraced fully by the blanket, she sighed in contempt. It really was warm like that, despite the cold air of October.

“So you don’t like me in a lingerie, huh.”

“Quite the contrary.” Sara shifted up a bit, adjusting her position so that it was comfortable enough to kiss Mila.

She tasted like the lingering tang of the watermelon chapstick she had long washed away – soft and somewhat moist, but sweet too. She smiled vaguely against Sara’s lips; a smile that intended to sprinkle a little bit more sugar on the kiss, yet tragically turned into something uncontrollable that she pushed her away to grin.

“You can’t seem to hold your smiles when we kiss, can you?” Sara teased.

“It’s automatic body reaction. Can’t hold it. You have to cope with my in-between giggles.” She answered, fingers curling on Sara’s silky hair.

“ _Cope_ , huh.”

Believe it or not, that was true. Mila wasn’t a bad kisser, but she smiled _a lot_. She was simply prone to smiling. Why is kissing a subject that always made her smile, then? Who knows.

Wait, no. Mila knows why.

The ecstasy-like effect of the sheer happiness of being in the arms of her most beloved, that’s why. It’s kind of odd how the chemicals in our brain work, is it not?

Mila pondered about the times of heartbreak, back in the past she didn’t want to talk about them, but now she laughed every time someone gave them a mention. None of them were worth it. None of their kisses, she assured, were worth her smiles.

Was Sara worth it?

_You should know the answer already._

They continued they previously did, and as Mila promised, in-between giggles had to take place. The soothing touches of palms on skin, soft breaths mingling, kisses upon kisses on lips and low chuckles in a dim living room, accompanied by melancholy music – though seems like a scene that birthed from old romance movies, they were real and true and they felt it. The intimacy of the night was almost unexplainable.

“Instead of making out on the couch, shouldn’t we get to bed?” Sara pulled back all of the sudden and inquired.

“Yeah, this place is pretty uncomfortable.”

“No—I mean sleep.”

“Are you too sleepy?” Mila landed a kiss on the crown of her head, tender and so full of love.

“Just a little. I had too much coffee, anyway.”

“Well, then,” she stood up and stretched, causing the unsuspecting Sara to plop down from Mila’s shoulder to a cushion, muttering a quiet yelp. “Have you ever tried baking?”

“Not even once.”

A few glances were enough for both of them to rush into their kitchen.

“Our oven is useless. It’s time for us to finally put it to some use.” Mila said as she cleaned the dusty oven. They actually didn’t have any need of it, but it was a gift from Mila’s mother, so they decided to keep it.

“That’s true. But it won’t be useful for today if we don’t have the ingredients to bake.”

“Sara, honey, we’re already in our aprons, so available or not, we’re still making something. And—“ the refrigerator door flew open “—your wife always knows what’s inside. We can make brownies.”

“You truly are amazing.”

“Tell me what to fetch.”

“Well—the essentials—sugar, butter, flour, eggs, and, um, vanilla extract. Have you got that?” she spoke hurriedly, copying what was written on an online recipe.

“Certainly.”

“Why in the world would you have vanilla extract in our fridge?”

Mila walked towards the kitchen table and put down all the things Sara had mentioned, except for the vanilla.

“Don’t complain,” she said in a fake serious tone, bumping the small bottle against Sara’s nose. “This is what I use to make your favorite pancakes.”

“Ah.”

Mila was an outright witch, Sara thought. Right there, at that moment, she had put her under a spell for an inexplicable reason. Mila has always been nonchalantly aggressive. A beautiful, mind-twisting woman that got Sara stoned on her place.

But Mila couldn’t be a real witch. Sara was just way too in love.

“Anything else?” the enchantress broke her own hex.

“Chocolate. And chocolate chip, if any.”

“Yes, sure, but no chocolate chip. Is that fine? We can use crushed biscuits or something as a replacement.”

“All right. That should do.”

“What’s next, Chef?” Mila stood with her hands on hips, eyes as big as a doe’s and both eyebrows raised. Sara didn’t even realize that she had worn an apron, _right_ over her lingerie. Although having seen Mila in the very same apron before, she noticed, for the first time, that it was slightly oversized. God, how could she look this jaw dropping even in the kitchen?

“Do you have a baking tin?”

“I think it was with the oven…is this it?” she held up the metal.

“I suppose so. Well, you should pre-heat the oven to 180 degree Celsius and grease the tin, then melt the chocolate.”

“How do you do that?”

“No idea.”

They looked at each other, understanding on how inexperienced they were. They couldn’t even operate the oven. And, even if they could, they knew that they were afraid of technical issues that might set it on fire.

“Uhh…then, I’ll read the guidebook.”

Sara boiled water and began to break the bars into small pieces with great effort, since it was still cold and hard. Mila, in the other hand, flipped through the guidebook with her head tilted while observing the oven every once in a while.

“We need the eggs now.”

“How many?”

“Two.”

“Beat up,” she shoved her the two eggs.

“You can mix the butter and sugar together.”

“How much?”

“Just—use your feelings. Also, add one teaspoon of vanilla into the chocolate when it’s liquid.”

“Got it, Chef.”

Unfortunately, Sara wasn’t so skilled when it came to cracking eggs. Half of the first one made it to her apron rather than the bowl, so she used spoon to scoop up the wasted yolk. The second one, instead of scooping it from her article, she spooned the tiny white shell that swam around. It was a hassle that made her blood boil.

Adding vanilla was easy, but Mila wasn’t very lucky on the butter-sugar side. Her hands were slick, and she made a mistake on pouring the sugar right away from the container. As a result, some managed to spray out, in which she used her sticky hands to wipe. Besides, it was heavy to stir. The batter was painfully thick, and Mila wondered if it was the right amount. After all, they had nothing to weigh the components with.

Yeah. They were definitely screwed.

“Mila, are you done?”

“Uh, yeah, should think so.”

Sara poured the egg into the butter mixture, accompanied by Mila chanting, “Careful, careful…man, you stink.”

“And what’s that on your hair?”

“I know.”

“Next up is the flour.”

The pandemonium was about to begin. In any soap operas or comedy shows, the flour is always the scapegoat of the mess in any baking activities. That’s true, at least most of the time.

Mila carefully cut the edge of the flour package with scissors (after making sure that the expiry date hasn’t passed) and used spoon to transfer flour to the bowl of dough, proud that she finally did something useful without making mess.

And then—Sara just had to wash her hands, and Mila just had to put the package near the sink and place it ever so rightly that when Sara leaned her elbows on what she thought was hard ceramic, it quickly hit the soft plastic containing flour. As a result, it burst in puffs and white powder.

It could have been less of a calamity if Mila hadn’t had her chin so close to the disaster. She was in a kneeling position, looking straight to the wall when she felt it. Her breath caught in her throat and she coughed. There was flour in her eyes and nostrils and everywhere on her face.

“Mila!” Sara yelled after a few seconds of surprise. “A—ah, oh, my, I’m so sorry.” She tried to grab a cloth, but her hands were still messy of yolk.

Unexpectedly, Mila laughed. Sara had prepared herself for Mila to spit any vitriolic anger, because that’s how Mila always was during any fights. But Mila laughed.

It was a childish kind of laugh; she laughed as if she were being tickled, occasionally coughing from the remaining flour that caught her nose. One hand covering mouth and the other trying to clean her hair (and failed), Mila looked so involuntarily innocent. Her laugh was like Mila herself – the high-pitched tune she’d hum when she’s doing laundry, the gleam in her eyes that Sara would sometimes think look like a glitch on a screen, and all other things that you could dismantle from Mila’s own existence.

And Sara, unquestioningly, loved it.

“Don’t make it a big deal. We’re baking. Accidents like this happen, right?”

Sara laughed too, in return. Though, it was lighter and shorter. “Let’s finish this quick, then.”

After following the few remaining steps, they were _finally_ done (minus the fact that they still had to wait 25 minutes for the godforsaken brownies to bake). The two of them were exhausted and they found it hard to open their eyes, but to sleep means to let their precious hard work waste away into burnt crisps.

So they set up an alarm, passed out in the kitchen, took out the warm brownies to the fridge, and passed out again – this time satisfied and relieved.

Truly a love made for movie screens.


End file.
